


All I Wanted (Was You)

by Poochee



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Rush (2013)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Hallucinations, M/M, Pining, everyone's kinda angsty on tumblr so i jumped on the bandwagon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poochee/pseuds/Poochee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is something he can’t have, yet it’s everything he wants, and he’s pathetic for pining away after something he’s never had. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Wanted (Was You)

**Author's Note:**

> yup it's angst 
> 
> i'm sorry i write sad things so much i swear i'm a happy person!

It’s raining out. Pouring, actually. It’s been this heavy all day, ever since James woke at ten. He heard it pattering against the window pane before he saw it; looking out of the window and seeing the grey clouds where the sun usually was. The memories it brings back chills him to the core and settles deep in his bones.

It puts him in a foul mood, so he has cigarettes for breakfast.

The first one he lifts to his mouth slowly, places between his lips like a whispered sin, and lights it with a steady flame. He has his fifth one within the hour. He chain smokes when he’s depressed, and soon he’ll bring out his favourite drink to burn his sore throat, to distract himself from the rain.

And later, when he gets really lonely and sick, and the ache is too much, he snorts thin white lines that leave him glowing brighter than the neon lights of the city.

Pair that with a rolled blunt, and he’s ready to be numb.

He goes to his bedroom again, lying down on the mattress as his eyes slip closed on a exhale of smoke, letting his hand fall over the side of the bed, careful not to drop the roll between his fingers.

Then there’s lips on his chest, soft and warm, kissing up and down his breastbone easily. The touches are light and they make a small smile tugs on the corners of his lips before it fades as the lips lift away.

He takes another drag and holds it in his lungs.

Teeth bite down on his hips playfully, and he coughs out the thick smoke as he giggles. There’s a familiar warmth in his belly and he doesn’t fight it.

“Again,” he whispers into the quiet room, and takes another hit.

Hands glide over his skin smoothly, calculated touches that grip his biceps and intertwine their fingers carefully as those lips kiss at his neck, sucking gently as his skin breaks out into little bumps from the cold.

This is something he can’t have, yet it’s everything he wants, and he’s pathetic for pining away after something he’s never had.

But if he concentrates enough, he can feel someone sitting on his stomach, a comforting weight that wiggles playfully and he almost smiles again. If he’s high enough, like now, he can imagine the warmth of another body, the one he’ll never have.

He puts out the blunt against the dresser and lets it drop to the floor, forgotten, as lips press against his own. They’re cold and heavy, like a lifetime of regret and loneliness, and James brings his hands up to bury them in brown curls.

He can feel them, soft between his fingers, endless little twirls that he cards his hands through endlessly. It’s nearly therapeutic. 

Slowly and steadily, the lips warm against his, like hoar thawing on branches in the spring, and James feels a familiar ache bloom in his chest again as he sobers.

And when he opens his eyes, everything’s gone. The curls are gone, the weight on his stomach is lifted, and those warming lips have faded. The fingers that had once filled the spaces between his own are forgotten forever.

All that’s left is the rain and darkness.

James doesn’t bother to fight back the tears pricking his eyes. He stares up the ceiling and swallows around the lump in his throat, until he’s whispering “Niki,” into the cold room and breaking down again.


End file.
